


Passing the Time

by summerofspock



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: First Time, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Post-Apocalypse, Romance, slow and steady
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-25 16:07:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20726978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerofspock/pseuds/summerofspock
Summary: The world didn’t end and they didn’t die so he and Aziraphale got lunch. A celebration between two old friends. The oldest of friends really. And then lunch—like most things—did end and even if Aziraphale could have seen Crowley’s pleading expression behind his glasses, it probably wouldn’t have mattered because they parted ways at the door and Crowley said, “I’ll, er, see you around then?”It was as innocuous a phrase as a phrase could be. No ‘come back to mine’ or ‘sorry I asked you to run away with me but I also sort of meant it.’ But Aziraphale only waved briefly as he walked away, leaving Crowley on the sidewalk feeling as if the rug had been pulled out from under him.Why would they see each other?They didn’t have assignments to discuss, favors to trade. What was left if they weren’t really an angel or really a demon?aka Aziraphale is repressed, Crowley is not, and they do their best fumbling through it.





	Passing the Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Atalan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atalan/gifts).

> i say this fic is FOR atalan but what I really mean is this fic exists BECAUSE of them  
i read [Pray for Us, Icarus ](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1448647) which was so good and painful that it ripped out my spine and I was so distraught that I needed to feel any amount of fluff, and then cranked this out in 2 days.  
therefore, this is essentially fluff and nonsense which barely has plot that i wrote to heal my broken heart and is entirely unrelated to that AU (which you should definitely read)
> 
> Cw: metaphorical internalized homophobia (heavenphobia if you will)

**August 2019**

The world didn’t end.

The world didn’t end and they didn’t die so he and Aziraphale got lunch. A celebration between two old friends. The oldest of friends really. And then lunch—like most things—did end and even if Aziraphale could have seen Crowley’s pleading expression behind his glasses, it probably wouldn’t have mattered because they parted ways at the door and Crowley said, “I’ll, er, see you around then?”

It was as innocuous a phrase as a phrase could be. No ‘come back to mine’ or ‘sorry I asked you to run away with me but I also sort of meant it.’ But Aziraphale only waved briefly as he walked away, leaving Crowley on the sidewalk feeling as if the rug had been pulled out from under him.

Why would they see each other?

They didn’t have assignments to discuss, favors to trade. What was left if they weren’t really an angel or really a demon?

**February 2020**

Time passed and Crowley got bored. He got bored easily and he wasn’t too big to admit it.

Even though he didn’t _ have _ to, he still enjoyed going to the park and making the geese chase after joggers or reducing the speed of the wifi in the coffee shop by his house whenever he wanted to watch some 20-somethings slam around their electronic devices in frustration.

But some of it? Some of it had lost its luster since Aziraphale had stopped speaking to him. 

What was six months in the span of a six thousand year acquaintance? A blip. Nothing.

And yet Crowley couldn’t shake his disappointment.

After everything, he supposed that now they’d finally be free to…

Crowley knew what he wanted. He supposed the human word was love but that felt tawdry. It was that Crowley wanted to spend time with Aziraphale whenever he wanted; wanted Aziraphale to be the first person he told any time something great or terrible or mundane happened; wanted Aziraphale’s to be the last face he saw before his long naps. It was terrifying sometimes but it had always been like that.

And he had thought Aziraphale liked him well enough. Yeah, maybe not the whole first and last and always part, but well enough. He hadn’t realized Aziraphale wanted _ this_. Nothing. No contact. Hurt a bit really

He was throwing a tennis ball against the wall periodically, relishing the bang that he knew was waking his neighbors—maybe he’d get a formal complaint from the landlord and have an excuse to switch up everybody’s post in a fit of revenge—when his mobile rang.

Fumbling for it, the tennis ball returned and wacked him in the side of the head. He yelped into the receiver.

“Crowley?” said the exquisitely prim voice on the other end. Oh he’d _ missed _ Aziraphale. 

Crowley felt a relief so acute that it dulled the sting of the tennis ball-sized bruise blooming on his skull. “Yep, m’here. What’s going on?”

“Alright...” the angel said warily and, switching tone swiftly, he asked, “Do you remember the name of that thing?”

“Have to be more specific, angel,” Crowley said. He was so bloody irritating and Crowley loved him for it.

“The _ thing_! It was a sort of instrument. If I recall, it looked like a fish and it was ribbed down the side.”

“A guiro?” Crowey asked, rubbing at the side of his head.

“Yes! Guiro. Oh, thank you,” Aziraphale gushed and Crowley could picture his expression, all pleased and bright eyed.

“Not that you can’t call me but why didn’t you just google it? It’s...1 AM.”

“Google?” Aziraphale asked, sounding curious.

Not wanting to give up another reason why Aziraphale might contact him, he quickly said, “Nevermind. It’s fine. Call me whenever you like.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Aziraphale said and Crowley fully expected him to hang up.

He didn’t.

“I don’t want to intrude, I know we just did lunch a few days ago but would you like to meet for dinner?”

“A few days ago?” Crowley said, wracking his brain to figure out if he’d slept through something like that. “Aziraphale...we went to lunch six months ago.”

A clattering echoed through the phone line. “Six months? Oh dear. I’ve quite forgotten—oh blast. Forgive me. Must run.”

And then Aziraphale hung up.

So maybe Aziraphale wasn’t avoiding him. Maybe he just lost track of time.

Typical.

Crowley threw the tennis ball at the wall.

BOOM.

**

Six months? Oh dear, had it really been six months.

Aziraphale had been known to disappear for weeks on end, lost in some book or some search, or occasionally his taxes, but months was rather unheard of if only because Heaven would drop off assignments periodically and remind him that he did, in fact, have a post that he was supposed to be attending to. 

For six months he’d forgotten to pay his bills—the lights had gone out but he hadn’t noticed— forgotten to water the plant Crowley had given him and had to miracle it back to life—Crowley would surely notice and give him a scathing look—and forgotten to collect his post which had piled up inside his door while he had been cross referencing different translations of Dostoevsky. 

How could he possibly do what he wanted if he would go and lose half a year whenever he got distracted?

He had other things he should be doing. Not just..just indulging himself! He was an angel for goodness sake.

**

Crowley slinked over to the bookshop half past five and tapped on the glass. He could go right in but he was feeling very peeved over the whole six months thing and wanted Aziraphale to have to go through the trouble of letting him in. 

He tapped his foot on the sidewalk as he waited. 

No answer.

He banged his fist on the door again, loud enough that some passerby looked at him askance.

“Piss off,” he said, showing a bit more forked tongue than normal just to watch them scurry away. 

Grinning, he turned back to the bookshop and snapped open the lock, tired of waiting for the angel to let him in. What he didn’t expect was to walk into is a bookshop entirely devoid of light except for the thin dusty stream coming through the skylight. 

“Aziraphale?” he asked cautiously, trying to push away the anxiety that came with entering an empty bookshop. He reminded himself that it wasn’t burning this time.

Flicking out his tongue experimentally, he followed the trail of Aziraphale’s scent to a bookshelf not far from his desk and found the angel sat among a pile of envelopes looking lost. “Aziraphale?” he asked again.

Aziraphale blinked and looked up at him. The normal light that clicked on in Aziraphale’s expression whenever he looked at Crowley didn’t arrive and that made Crowley more nervous than before.

“What’s going on?”

Aziraphale looked even paler. “I have no idea what day of the week it is.”

Entirely confused, Crowley knelt down next to him in order to help him to his feet. “Let’s get some food in you,” he said. “You always get weird when you’re hungry.”

He took Aziraphale to a cafe not far from the bookshop and all the customers had a sudden urge to be elsewhere as Crowley got Aziraphale a cocoa and a croissant and set him up in the overly plush chairs by the fire. Tucking himself into his own chair, Crowley stared at the angel as he blew on his drink, took a sip, frowned and then put it aside.

“Not good then?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “No. It’s delicious. I’ve just wasted so much time. I feel as if I should be out in the world doing good deeds.”

“You love hot cocoa,” Crowley said instead of any of the other philosophical stuff that ran through his mind. “And if you love it then you should spend your time enjoying it. Other stuff can wait.”

Aziraphale cast the cup a longing glance.

“One of the great things about humans,” Crowley began, leaning back in his chair carelessly, hoping that a nonchalant pose would keep Aziraphale from seeing how hard he was trying to help, “is that they do things for the pleasure. Didn’t you do that? Eat for pleasure? Drink for pleasure? S’the same now, just nobody’s watching. Free will. We can do what we want. Little pleasure here and then duty later. Or however you want to swing it.”

“What I want to do is be in my bookshop and read. Or track down lost editions! And I did that. I spent _ six months _ without even realizing while translating Dostevsky! How am I supposed to do good when I can hardly be trusted to remember what day it is? Should I set alarms now? What if that doesn’t work?”

Aziraphale’s desperate expression made Crowley do something bold. Well there were a lot of factors that made Crowley do something bold—namely the knowledge that no one was watching, that the world almost ended and he’d never done anything like it, and also because Aziraphale looked like he needed some comfort. So it was with something like horror, Crowley reached out and placed a supportive hand on Aziraphale’s knee. The horror seemed to be shared by the angel who looked down at his hand like it was a spider that had suddenly appeared on his knee instead of the hand of his friend who, admittedly, was a demon but hardly the horror-inducing kind.

Crowley tried to stand firm but his mortification—and Aziraphale’s expression—got the best of him so he snatched his hand back and cleared his throat. 

“How about this,” Crowley said, trying to will his stupid corporation into not blushing, “You can do whatever you want—restore texts, get lost in books, whatever—and I’ll make sure to swing around the bookshop say...once a week and drag you to dinner or a show and you can do your angelic works while we’re out. I’ll even let you! I’ll turn a blind eye! Consider it an addendum to Arrangement if you like.”

Aziraphale looked at him warily and for a moment Crowley was certain that Aziraphale knew of the little hopeful thing that Crowley held in his heart about the first and last and always sort of love, and would summarily reject him right then and there in the cushy chairs of Julie’s Coffee.

“I wouldn’t want to put you out,” Aziraphale said instead.

“Angel,” Crowley said and it sounded far too much like an endearment. He’d need to reel _ that _in. “I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to.”

Aziraphale let out a deep breath and seemed to settle into his seat. “Alright. Let’s try that. Just while I’m adjusting to the new way of things.”

Crowley hoped that adjustment would last a rather long time.

**

With the promise that Crowley would come around so he wouldn’t lose time again, Aziraphale tried to relax into his work. It was horribly difficult at first because he couldn’t stop thinking about the demon and the look he had seen on Crowley’s face at the cafe. He had seen it so many times before but did his best to ignore it. The demon could have his feelings but Aziraphale had to...feelings made him nervous. He was an _ angel _ and Crowley was a _ demon _ and they couldn’t just go around having romantic feelings for each other. It was unheard of.

But Crowley never pushed him on it. Had never pushed him on it in all the years of their acquaintance. In fact, that little touch to his knee was the first time Crowley had touched him outside of practical reasons for centuries. And the shock that had run up Aziraphale’s leg had certainly been horror at the idea Crowley would ever touch him with such affection. Friends or no they couldn’t _do _ that because Heaven would—

Oh, well. Aziraphale supposed that wasn’t true anymore. 

Regardless of Crowley’s most likely sinful thoughts about the two of them, Aziraphale did care for the demon and they were friends. Best friends probably. And Crowley’s willingness to help him keep time here at the beginning of eternity meant more than Aziraphale could put into words. Certainly the demon would prefer to be popping all over the world, throwing about his demonic wiles, seducing everyone he could with those long legs and those cheekbones and that mouth—

Aziraphale tugged at his bowtie—maybe he needed to wear it looser these days—and focused on the manuscript in front of him. He’d never read _Clarissa_ and it was high time to do so.

**March 2020**

Crowley strode into the bookshop, much more confident now that he had Aziraphale’s permission to pop over and make sure the angel took care of himself. 

“Aziraphale,” he called, waiting to hear the telltale rustling of pages as Aziraphale put away whatever he was working on.

Sure enough, Aziraphale appeared between two bookshelves, looking much more himself than the last time Crowley saw him. The same flare of warmth that Crowley always felt when he first saw Aziraphale took up residence in his chest.

“You doing alright?” Crowley asked, shoving his hands into his pockets, feeling awkward against his better judgment.

Aziraphale looked away and turned pink—that was weird. “Quite. Did you have something in mind for the day?”

Crowley shrugged. All he had in mind was spending time with Aziraphale, however and wherever. “Want to do something old or something new?”

Fiddling with his pocket watch, Aziraphale bit his lip. “Something new,” he said after a moment.

“Right then. Grab your coat, angel. Can’t have you getting cold,” Crowley said, holding open the door.

They stepped out onto the street and Crowley took them someplace new.

**

Aziraphale poked at the olive floating in his drink. “What is this?”

“It’s a bloody mary. Surely you’ve had one,” Crowley said, eyebrows going up. The demon looked particularly relaxed that day. His hair had started to grow out, falling into his face a bit.

“I’m not sure I like a tomato-based beverage,” Aziraphale said and Crowley snorted.

“Thought you wanted to try new things.”

It was bait and Aziraphale knew he would take it. He lifted the glass to his lips and sipped tentatively. Salty, bitter and a bit spicy. Not bad at all.

“Good?” Crowley asked with a pleased smile as he waved down a waiter to place their order.

Crowley ordered a bacon sandwich for show while Aziraphale opted for a croque madame. When Crowley gave him a look over his glasses, Aziraphale huffed. 

“One new thing at a time then?” Crowley asked with a sly smile.

Ignoring him, Aziraphale said, “I wanted a croque madame so I ordered a croque madame. Isn’t that rather the point of this whole free will business?”

The smile turned into a full on smirk. “I think you’re getting it, angel.”

**August 2020**

It went on like this for months, Crowley showing up at the bookstore at some point every week. Sometimes Aziraphale wouldn’t be doing anything important and left with him. On other days, the angel would request for Crowley to come back tomorrow and Crowley did. Of course Crowley did. 

The only thing that remained the same was that they always left the bookshop. Crowley missed it sometimes, the musty smell of it, the Aziraphaleness. It was where they’d had their midnight conversations for a very long time and avoiding it felt somehow wrong.

But the point of these outings was to get Aziraphale _ out _ of the bookshop and Crowley, demon or no, always kept his word.

So it was a delightful surprise when Aziraphale, on a sunny Tuesday at noon nearly a year after the averted apocalypse, looked at Crowley and said, “You could stop by the bookshop more often you know.”

Aziraphale looked out over the lake—they had gone boating which Crowley didn’t love but Aziraphale had seemed excited about—and said, “I’ve gotten better at keeping track of the days so I don’t think you need to be quite so scheduled about it.”

“Eternity treating you better then?” Crowley asked as a duck quacked to his right. He gave it a quick dunk just to watch it shake it’s feathers when it resurfaced.

Aziraphale didn’t even reprimand him.

“Sometimes,” the angel said with that same far off expression. “I suppose I’m starting to realize there’s so much time that I can do what I like and also do good. It's been rather pleasurable spending more time with you.”

Crowley could feel his heartbeat in his ears, hot and fast. Feeling as if he were outside his body, Crowley reached out and took Aziraphale’s hand. He wanted to say something back, but he was no good with his words, never had been so he held Aziraphale’s hand and hoped that was enough. 

Aziraphale looked at him softly and then his eyes widened in shock as he ripped his hand away, throwing his weight so far back that the boat rocked precariously and before either of them could stop it, they were dumped into the cold water. 

Crowley surfaced, spluttering. “You bastard! Bloody—”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Aziraphale cried, righting the boat with a quick miracle and holding it steady as they both clambered back inside, covered in lake water and algae and who knew what else. 

They looked at each other for a moment, Crowley scowling and Aziraphale staring back, before the angel burst out laughing. “I’m so sorry, your hair! It’s just so—you look like drowned dog.”

Aziraphale reached out to brush Crowley’s hair back from his face and Crowley had to restrain himself from catching his hand before he pulled it away. That had gone horribly.

Seemingly realizing what he was doing, Aziraphale bit his lip and retreated to his side of the boat. 

**September 2020**

The next time Crowley came to the bookshop, he came with wine and chocolates. The kind with the flavored centers that Aziraphale liked so much but that Crowley could live without.

At his call from the doorway, Aziraphale shuffled out with a nervous smile. “Ah, Crowley. Lovely to see you.”

“I brought treats,” Crowley said, holding up his offerings and that turned Aziraphale’s tight smile into a real one. 

“Oh are those—” Aziraphale said as Crowley handed him the bag of chocolates.

“Yes, those truffles. Of course. Only the best for my angel.”

Crowley cringed. That was both needlessly soppy and far too revealing.

Thankfully, Aziraphale didn’t call him on it, too absorbed in the prospect of chocolate and good wine. “Yes, yes, come on back and we can open that up,” he said, gesturing at the bottle still in Crowley’s hand. 

“So what have you been up to?” Aziraphale asked after they both had glasses in their hands and were settled in their normal position. Crowley on the couch and Aziraphale in a chair opposite him.

“The usual,” Crowley said with a wave of his hand. “There’s plenty of things to do when you look for it. Breakers to blow out. Traffics jams to cause. I put mice in Parliament last week. That was fun. The shrieking and all.”

Aziraphale looked at him darkly, but Crowley knew it was for show. 

Several glasses later, Crowley kicked out his leg and tangled their ankles together. And, much to his surprise, Aziraphale didn’t pull away.

**December 2020**

Crowley stared at the golden wing fob and tried to tear himself away from the curio shop. He didn’t need to go about buying other gifts for the angel. He knew he was already pushing it by going over to the shop more frequently. Aziraphale hadn’t yet noticed that he’d increased their once a week visits to twice a week. Or if he had, he hadn’t said anything.

The burnished gold of the wings blinked back at him. Aziraphale loved his little wing themed trinkets. And this would be the perfect fob for his pocket watch.

He sighed and walked down the street, chain now burning a hole in his coat pocket as the right amount of money appeared in the shop’s cash register. If he hadn’t bought it, he would have thought about it all day.

And he had things to do.

**

They were a bottle of wine deep and arguing about which Shakespeare play was best—Aziraphale was firmly in the camp of Hamlet and Crowley liked Comedy of Errors—when Aziraphale’s phone rang and he shuffled off to answer it.

“Oh, Mr. Daniels? Yes, Thank you for returning my call. You were interested in the Keats…”

Crowley stopped listening and started fiddling with the box in his pocket. He wanted to give Aziraphale the blasted thing but he didn’t want to see that horrified look on his face that he sometimes got when Crowley got too close or said something edging into the romantic.

Well, Aziraphale said accidentally romantic shit all the time and Crowley was dealing with it so the angel could take the sodding gift and shove it—

“Sorry about that,” Aziraphale said, picking back up his wine glass. “I’m finally offloading an old Keats forgery.”

“I have something for you,” Crowley said in a rush.

Aziraphale’s eyebrows went up as he slowly lowered his glass back to the table.

Crowley tugged out the box and leaned forward to hand it to Aziraphale who blearily took it, their fingers brushing in transit which shouldn’t have made Crowley’s heart kick but it did.

Aziraphale blinked down at the little box in his palm for a moment and then lifted the lid.

Crowley looked away before he could even see his reaction. “I saw it the other day. Thought you could replace your fob. It’s getting old and—”

“It’s lovely, Crowley,” Aziraphale said softly, interrupting him, and he didn’t sound angry or alarmed so Crowley chanced a glance at him only to see him lifting the chain out of the box with something like reverence.

Pulling out his watch, Aziraphale immediately switched out the fobs and put the new one on, buttoning it in and smiling down at the little wings that winked on the chain. Aziraphale stood and said, “What do you think?”

Without really thinking, Crowley reached out and brushed the back of his knuckles over the chain, before letting the pads of his fingers rest on Aziraphale’s belly. “Just how I imagined.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale breathed and Crowley had the presence of mind to pull away, affecting as cool a slouch as he could muster given the fact his body felt like a livewire.

“How about more wine?” Crowley asked, pouring himself some more from the bottle.

“Right,” Aziraphale said, looking flustered as he spun around in search of his glass. “Yes. Right.”

**June 2021**

Crowley was trying to _ tempt _ him. Aziraphale just knew it. All those touches and smiles and sweet things. 

Well, it wouldn’t work. Aziraphale was very good at withstanding Crowley’s temptations. It was this subtle almost _ romantic _ behavior that was starting to bother him. He’d started to think about how happy Crowley looked when Aziraphale welcomed him into the bookshop. Or the way Crowley’s mouth had gone soft when he had taken Aziraphale’s hand on the lake.

It didn’t seem very lusty and sinful when it came right down to it. There were no tongues or swinging hips or groping hands. Just Crowley, looking at him from across the room and smiling quietly like he would rather be there than anywhere else in the world.

And Aziraphale _ hated _ it because it reminded him that he’d rather be with Crowley than anywhere else either.

Sighing, he shut his book and went to his phone. He didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts and that meant one thing.

“Angel?” Crowley asked and Aziraphale’s heart climbed up in his throat. Nerves surely.

“I was wondering if you’d like to go to the Ritz. We haven’t gone in quite a while and I—”

Crowley grunted and it sounded...pained? “I would but I’ve got, er, something going on.”

What could Crowley possibly have going on? They never had anything going on! That was rather the point these days.

“Are you quite alright? You don’t sound yourself.”

“It’s fine.”

Aziraphale knew a lie when he heard one. Especially from Crowley. “I’m coming over.”

“Aziraphale don’t—”

His protest was cut off when Aziraphale hung up the phone, grabbed his coat, and set off to Mayfair. 

**

“Get in the shower, you stupid thing,” Aziraphale said, pushing at Crowley’s bare back where the remnants of his scales showed dull gray over his spine.

Apparently, Crowley had been _ shedding _ and part of his scales were stuck and instead of asking for help he’d decided to roll around his flat for several days trying to handle it himself and only making it worse by wearing out his human skin.

“Hnnng,” Crowley protested trying to slap away Aziraphale’s hands. “It _ hurts_.”

“It will only hurt worse if you put it off. Now get _ in_,” Aziraphale said with a final shove and Crowley, clad only in his very unfortunately tight boxer briefs fell into the shower with a betrayed look while Aziraphale clicked the water on with a snap of his fingers and held the door shut with another burst of power.

Crowley banged on the glass. “Let me out, you bastard!”

“No,” Aziraphale said. “You need to get the scales off.”

Crowley groaned and slumped against the wall, wriggling in an attempt to relieve the itch. “I can’t reach it. That’s why I have this problem.”

Rolling his eyes, Aziraphale miracled a long shower brush and tossed it over the shower door. “Use that.”

Crowley looked down at it in shock and then turned sheepish eyes on Aziraphale. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Obviously,” Aziraphale said. 

Crowley made a series of pained noises as he scrubbed at his back but shortly thereafter the noises turned to little sounds of pleasure that made Aziraphale feel rather…

Oh.

The shower brush clattered to the floor and Crowley turned back to face him, looking water-logged. “It’s done. Let me out.”

Aziraphale crossed his arms over his chest and pushed away his untimely realization. “Is that it? Or do you need to scrub down the rest of you?”

“I got the rest of it,” Crowley snapped. “It’s just that one spot.”

“Fine,” Aziraphale said, snapping his fingers and letting Crowley out.

Which may have been a mistake because without the water and the steam, Aziraphale could see every part of Crowley’s body, the sharp line of his hip, his bony knees, the indent of his sternum. He had _ freckles on his shoulders_.

Aziraphale swallowed. 

He didn’t have very long to ogle because Crowley pulled himself together with a little snap of power and gave Aziraphale a long-suffering look.

“I told you not to come over.”

“What would have happened if I hadn’t?” Aziraphale asked coolly, raising one eyebrow and waiting for Crowley’s excuses.

Crowley grumbled and pushed past him out of the bathroom. 

“You can ask for help, you know,” Aziraphale said. “I’m happy to—I’d be here for you.”

Crowley cocked his head in consideration and said, “Yeah, alright.”

**

Aziraphale’s crisis about eternity was nothing compared to his crisis about Crowley.

What were these newfound flashes of feeling he felt around the demon? It certainly wasn’t friendship because Aziraphale could recognize that. He couldn’t push away the fear he felt at the prospect of these...feelings. What if someone found out?

He had to remind himself that no one was watching.

He needed to talk to someone about it but the only person who would understand was Crowley.

Quite a pickle.

He didn’t want to give the demon false hope because, well, Aziraphale knew how Crowley felt. It was just...he had _ so many _ questions. And Crowley was so good with questions.

**December 2021**

It was snowing so Crowley suggested they go outside, bundled of course, and watch humans do human things in the park. And Aziraphale did like the way Crowley looked with snow dusting his hair and the color high on his cheeks so he agreed. 

Huffing through the snow as the streetlights glittered above them, Aziraphale burrowed into his thick coat, thankful for his scarf and earmuffs as the chill wiggled through. “I thought you hated the cold,” he said, breath a puff of fog in front of him.

“Yeah, but it’s new. And aren’t we trying new things?” Crowley asked, barely disguising a shiver.

Gathering his resolve—this was for Crowley’s own good, not his own strange impulses—he tucked his arm through Crowley’s and said, “Perhaps if we huddle up a bit.”

Was it too far? It certainly would have been two years ago when either Heaven or Hell could have come down on them, but his momentary anxiety was replaced by a low, satisfied warmth. 

Crowley tensed beside him but didn’t pull away.

Clearing the snow from a bench with his powers, Crowley took a seat and gestured for Aziraphale to join him. It had been nice, pressing their sides together as they walked. 

Just as he was contemplating scooching across the bench so he could feel the line of Crowley’s body against his again, a snowball hit the side of the bench and exploded over Aziraphale’s coat, bits of it coming up and splashing on his face.

He looked over and saw a handful of teenagers throwing snow at each other. He felt his frustration flow away. How could he be frustrated when they were having so much fun?

Crowley snickered beside him and Aziraphale could definitely glare at _him_.

“Sorry,” Crowley said, working his jaw not to laugh. “You just look adorable.”

Aziraphale turned to Crowley with wide eyes.

**

Oh shit oh shit.

How do you walk back adorable?

Crowley had no idea so he lept to his feet and said, “Right, let’s go. Too chilly.”

“Sit back down this instant,” Aziraphale demanded, not moving.

Crowley obeyed, eye drawn to Aziraphale like a rubbernecker to a car crash.

“I’ve been meaning to speak to you about this but I didn’t know where to start,” Aziraphale said, eyes flickering around like _ he _ had a reason to be nervous.

“I suppose this is as a good a place as any.”

“You couldn’t have picked somewhere with booze,” Crowley quipped. Maybe if he was a little bitchy Aziraphale would let his little slip up go.

Ignoring him, Aziraphale continued. “I know how you, er, feel about me. I have for quite some time.”

Crowley’s stomach turned to lead. His ‘oh shit’ mantra doing circles in his head.

“What about it?”

“You needn’t look like that,” Aziraphale chastised. “Well, perhaps you should. What I’m saying is that I’m not sure.”

“Not sure about what? You’ll have to be clear see because I’ve had these feelings for _ quite some time_,” Crowley said, mocking Aziraphale’s tone because he had nothing else to defend himself really.

Shooting him a dirty look, Aziraphale said, “I’m trying to say that I’m not sure how I feel. Of course I know we’re friends and I do like that. We’re friends right?”

Even if Crowley was feeling bitchy he wasn’t going to say _ no_. So he didn’t.

“Right, so we’re friends which means we spend time together and sometimes take care of each other but you sometimes seem to want more and I truly don’t know what _ more _ is. I’ve spent the last several months trying to figure out what I want but I really have no one to discuss the issue with. So I came to the conclusion that the only thing we can really do is try it and see.”

“Try it...and see?” Crowley felt a bit numb at that pronouncement. 

“Well it can’t be _ that _ different, can it?” Aziraphale asked and then he looked worried. “Is it very different?”

“I don’t bloody know!”

“But you do want...more?” Aziraphale asked hesitantly as Crowley watched his breath puff into the falling snow. 

Crowley clenched his gloved hands into fists. He could do this. It was what he’d wanted for a very long time and yet, this lackluster declaration made it more difficult to say it than he ever thought it would be. 

He settled on a meager “Yeah, Yeah I do.”

“Alright then,” Aziraphale said, sounding satisfied and nervous simultaneously. “Well, I’m just going to—”

He made a strange flapping gesture with his hand and then scooted over to press against Crowley’s side, once more looping his arm through Crowley’s elbow and effectively cuddling against him.

It was...nice.

**

They settled into the bookshop for hot cocoa after brushing the snow from their hair and awkwardly dancing around each other. 

“What happens if I decide I don’t want this?” Aziraphale asked after he took his traditional seat in his chair. Crowley wanted to suggest he join him on the couch but it seemed too much too fast if Aziraphale essentially just wanted to "try."

“You keep asking questions like I have any bloody clue about what’s going to happen.”

“I just thought you might have spent some time imagining how this would go,” Aziraphale said, quite cross.

_ Oh I’ve imagined a lot of things and you have no idea how embarrassing they are. _

He’d loved Aziraphale for a very long time but most of his imaginings tended towards curling around Aziraphale on this very sofa or playing with Aziraphale’s hair while he put his head in Crowley’s lap. A few of his fantasies were as benign as _ hand holding_. 

Sometimes, very rarely, he thought about what it would be like to undo Aziraphale’s tie and run his fingers over the column of his throat and what Aziraphale’s face would look like when he did. Would he gasp? Would he be silent and wide eyed?

It struck him then that he might be able to find out.

“What are romantic feelings do you think?” Aziraphale asked and Crowley took off his glasses so he could scrub at his eyes.

“I need to be more drunk for this conversation.”

**

“Explain it to me!” Aziraphale demanded, ripping the bottle of whiskey from Crowley’s hands and taking a pull straight from the top.

Somehow they both ended up on the floor with their backs against the couch. Aziraphale thought it might have something to do with tug of war over the scotch bottle but it was also sort of nice to have his thigh right up against Crowley’s and be able to be in his space without worrying he was intruding. Or feeling like someone might walk in on them at any time, gasp and then send Aziraphale to hell.

For example.

“Look, angel, it’s difficult to...to put into words. Bad with words, me. Bad at ‘em,” Crowley said, licking his lips.

“Just tryyyy,” Aziraphale whined, letting his head tip so it rested on Crowley’s shoulder. He felt that tension again like Crowley was afraid and then it released before Crowley jostled him a bit to bring his arm up around his shoulders. Mmm, that was good.

“Fine but if you make fun, I’m leaving.” Crowley said but Aziraphale knew he wouldn’t do that. Crowley would never leave.

Aziraphale let his hand drop to Crowley’s thigh so he could idly play with the seam near his knee. He’d never been this close to someone before. Angels weren’t particularly cuddly creatures and he’d not been close enough to humans to...snuggle. Aziraphale thought he liked being held.

“So you’ve got friends, ya know,” Crowley began, gesturing with his free hand from where his arm was perched on his raised knee. “Friends are like...you’ve had friends, right?”

Aziraphale immediately thought of Crowley and then had to cast his mind further back. “Yes, I suppose I have. Besides you that is.”

“Right, right. So friends are people you talk to about mutual interests, who you see occasionally and chat with. But romantic feelings? That’s...it’s like all of that and then some. It’s waking up and thinking about them. Wanting to tell them every blasted thing that’s ever happened to you when they weren’t around but wanting them to always be around. Missing them when they’re gone. A little bit of an ache, really. In your chest.”

“Does it hurt?” Aziraphale asked, caught up in Crowley’s explanation. Did he really feel that way about Aziraphale?

Crowley shrugged. “Sometimes.”

“I’m sorry I’ve made you ache,” Aziraphale said, lifting his hand to press it against Crowley’s chest, over his heart. Crowley’s body wasn’t warm the way Aziraphale’s was but it was firm under his palm and that feeling that Aziraphale sometimes got when Crowley touched him swirled in his belly, hot and insistent. 

Crowley wrapped his hand around his and held it there for a moment before pulling away entirely. “S’alright. One of those things you get used to,” he said as he stood, leaving Aziraphale on the ground, surprised and aching in another way.

“Where are you going?” he asked, mind blurred by whiskey and what he’s started to think is arousal. 

“Home,” Crowley said, picking up his black peacoat.

“Won’t you stay?” Aziraphale asked as he looked up at Crowley with wide, pleading eyes.

The demon paused and then sighed. “Fine, give me that bottle.”

Crowley flopped onto the couch and held out his hand. “You know, that kicked puppy look won’t work on me forever.”

“What look?” Aziraphale asked innocently.

**

Aziraphale bullied him into staying in the shop the next day. 

“You can lay around here as well as anywhere else,” he had said. “And I’ll only be a bit. I’ve got a few people stopping by for orders and then we can go out. Anywhere you like.”

So Crowley stretched out on the sofa and thought himself into a pit.

Aziraphale had said he wasn’t sure if he felt the same way, but he’d also practically plastered himself onto Crowley for the rest of the night as they’d moved from discussions of feelings to more familiar territory.

Not sure. It wasn’t a no or the awful rejection Crowley had expected for so long. It certainly wasn’t in line with Aziraphale’s terrified looks over the last two years every time Crowley had so much as brushed his hand.

He supposed it would hurt something fierce when Aziraphale decided he didn’t feel the same way but Crowley wasn’t the type to toss away an opportunity when it was handed to him on a silver platter. He knew Aziraphale liked all that old-fashioned stuff, wooing and the like so if he played his cards right, he could probably turn Aziraphale’s not sure into a resounding yes.

Crowley listened as the customers came and went, some tried to haggle and he enjoyed the sharp bent to Aziraphale’s voice when he shut them down.

Aziraphale probably wouldn’t notice if he popped out for a moment.

**

Oh dear, where had Crowley gone? 

Aziraphale supposed he had been a bit longer with his customers than he had expected but he was surprisingly disappointed that Crowley had left without so much as a word.

Puttering around to gather the many discarded cups from the night before, Aziraphale tried to push away his disappointment. He did have rather a lot to think about. All those things Crowley said like wanting to be the first person you see every day and wanting to share everything.

It made a startling amount of sense.

Perhaps Aziraphale had attributed it all to the fact that they were really the only beings like each other on earth. That Crowley understood him because they were in similar positions and nothing else. But maybe that had been wishful thinking on his part. Compartmentalizing as all those psychiatric texts were fond of saying. He had told himself it was just convenience that made him want to speak with Crowley about every little mundane thing that happened in the months and years between when they saw each other. It was probably compartmentalization that had saved him from feeling the fear and shame he would have otherwise felt when spending time with the demon.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley said behind him and Aziraphale nearly dropped the cup in his hands.

“Oh dear, you startled me,” he said, pressing a hand to his chest and setting the cup down. “Where did you get off to?”

Crowley held out a bunch of yellow tulips, freshly arranged, and said, "Flowers."

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows.

"For you," Crowley added, grimacing.

Oh, the poor demon was trying to make a gesture. That was...that was very sweet.

Aziraphale took them gently and suddenly wanted to kiss him, something, show affection the way he wanted to but his stomach pulsed in fear. Ah, maybe he’d need to wait a while longer to be able to do that without liquid courage. 

"I remember that old, er, flower language nonsense you went on about and yellow tulips mean…"

Aziraphale stared at him. Flower language. Crowley had told him it was idiotic and yet here he stood with a bunch of yellow tulips which meant—

"Your smile is like the sun,” he said with no small amount of awe.

"Right, yeah," Crowley said, tugging at his jacket and looking anywhere but at Aziraphale. "Which you know, it is. To me."

Sod his nerves. Swallowing hard, he took a step forward and pressed a kiss to Crowley's cheek, careful not to crush the flowers between their bodies. "Thank you, darling."

Aziraphale liked that. Darling. A bit more affectionate than my dear which felt absolutely right for Crowley. He was more than dear, he was—

"Things go alright with the customers?" Crowley asked, shuffling back and nearly knocking over a stack of books which he hastened to right.

"Yes, yes. All wrapped up," Aziraphale said, miracling a vase by the register to place the flowers in. He wondered if Crowley knew tulips also meant hopeless love. Probably not. Even Crowley wasn’t that maudlin.

"Good, good, er…" Crowley said, looking frightfully out of sorts.

It was frankly adorable.

"I was thinking," Aziraphale said, taking pity on him, "that we could go to the art museum and see the Bouguereau exhibit. He's not rightfully appreciated."

"Fine by me, angel."

**

It felt a big risk to take Aziraphale's hand while they walked through the giant paintings but Crowley wanted to take a risk. He needed to.

But when he slipped his hand in the angel's, Aziraphale jerked away. 

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Crowley moved closer to the painting so he wouldn't have to look at whatever expression was on Aziraphale's face.

The angel came up next to him and practically yanked his hand from his pocket and jammed their fingers together. "Old habits," Aziraphale said with an apologetic smile.

And Crowley had no idea what that meant.

**June 2022**

They went on like this for months. Crowley would bring Aziraphale something when he came calling—which Aziraphale knew was a hopelessly old fashioned way to think about it, but he had no idea what else it could be called. Usually flowers or baked goods, but sometimes antiques that Aziraphale would never have purchased for himself but loved all the same. With a few minor exceptions.

He stared at the cupid statue in his hand and gave Crowley a dark look. 

“What?” Crowley asked innocently. “You love your angel statuary.”

Rolling his eyes, he put the statue on top of one of the bookcases. 

The only thing that didn’t change was how much they touched. And it was driving Aziraphale _ insane._

Maybe once a month, Crowley would take his hand while they walked in the park. Or, if Aziraphale practically stuffed himself against Crowley’s side, the demon would put his arm around him. It was always hesitant and never lasted as long as Aziraphale wanted.

And it _ never _ escalated.

And oh how Aziraphale wanted it to escalate.

He had no idea how he had spent 6000 years ignoring the fact that Crowley was _ attractive_, let alone several centuries pretending he didn’t know Crowley had feelings for him.

Repression was a powerful thing.

He was sitting at his desk trying to focus on Faust but all the talk of being dragged to hell was making him think about Crowley which made him think about _ other _ things, touching things. He couldn’t believe himself! 

Fantasizing while reading about Mephistopheles. Really.

“Angel?”

Speak of the devil. Aziraphale shut his book hastily—not as if he’d been reading anything particularly embarrassing but his thoughts had been embarrassing which was bad enough—and removed his glasses.

“Oh! Crowley! I was just thinking about you,” he said and immediately winced. 

“Only bad things I hope,” Crowley said from the entryway where Aziraphale found him. As the years had ticked by after the apocalypse, he’d slowly changed his fashion again, slipping back into ties and slim cut jackets as he let his hair grow out.

Aziraphale had done no such thing. He liked his old clothes. They fit him perfectly.

“Never,” Aziraphale retorted, smiling at Crowley and probably looking like a madman. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Well, it’s my weekly visit to remind you that the world exists,” Crowley said, sauntering up to him with probably no idea what it did to Aziraphale. He even knocked a couple of books off a shelf when he leaned against it and Aziraphale didn’t have the presence of mind to reprimand him.

“I think at this point you can say you wanted to see me, darling,” Aziraphale said, going to the door to retrieve his jacket. He had no idea where they’d go but he had been in the bookshop for quite a while.

Crowley groaned as he followed him out into the bright summer sunshine.

**

Crowley thought things were going very well. Aziraphale smiled at him even more than he used to and he still did that brightening thing whenever Crowley gave him gifts. 

And he hadn’t sat Crowley down and said anything like ‘yes I tried but really I’ve decided I’m not interested in pursuing this any longer.’

Truly, a wild success.

Despite that, Aziraphale still did his little jumping thing whenever Crowley tried to touch him so Crowley had stopped trying that. He let Aziraphale initiate everything because he didn’t like the way his stomach twisted at Aziraphale’s terrified expression.

Generally, he was just thankful Aziraphale knew how he felt and he didn’t have to hide it anymore. Quite liberating really.

“I’ve been thinking,” Crowley said, swirling his wine in his cup for no reason other than watching the small whirlpool form, “We should go on a trip.”

They’d just settled into the bookshop for night. Crowley had brought two bottles of very expensive wine that he hadn’t even stolen and Aziraphale had opened the first with that exquisitely excited look of his. 

“Where were you thinking we ought to go, darling?” Aziraphale asked before taking his first sip. When he did, he closed his eyes and hummed in pleasure.

“Haven’t been to Norway in years. Heard the fjords are good.”

Aziraphale nodded but he seemed far away and for a moment Crowley thought he had misstepped. Maybe a trip together was too far? Aziraphale had said his idea of a good eternity was translating Dostoevsky and—

“Why haven’t you kissed me?” 

Crowley slopped the wine—the very expensive wine—onto his trousers. “Excuse me?”

Aziraphale looked up at the ceiling as if to ask for help, but they both knew there was none forthcoming from _ that _ direction. “Is that not part of what you were looking for? I suppose I thought when you said you had romantic feelings for me they included all the human parts of romance as well. Kissing and...and other things.”

Crowley thought his face might burn clean off with how hard he was blushing. 

“It’s fine if not,” Aziraphale rushed to say and his own cheeks turned slightly pink. “I like what we have. Certainly.”

“Do you?” Crowley asked. He used a burst of power to return his wine to his glass and become thankfully dry again.

"What do you mean?" Aziraphale asked, eyebrows coming together.

“Do you like what we have? Because I honestly haven’t been able to tell,” Crowley said through the sparking nerves in his chest.

“Of course I do! If I didn’t I would have said something!” Aziraphale said, sitting up straight and starting to look peeved.

“Would you say something though? Because every time we so much as brush hands you go pale as a ghost and run away,” Crowley said, not able to maintain the cool tone of his voice. He bared his teeth in a grimace.

Aziraphale looked at the wineglass in his hands and when he looked back up his eyes were shining and Crowley had no idea what he did to make Aziraphale look like he was about to _cry_.

Waving a hand at Crowley’s stricken expression, Aziraphale swallowed and said, “No, my dear, I’m sorry. I should have explained myself. You remember when we set up this, well, this arrangement for you to come by and help me keep time?”

Crowley nodded hesitantly.

“As much as I’ve had difficulties without my heavenly assignments, I’ve also struggled with remembering that I’m allowed to...allowed to touch you. Allowed to be around you at all really.”

Things suddenly made a lot more sense.

"So it’s not because I’m a demon?”

Aziraphale looked horrified. “No! I’m not disgusted by you if that’s what you’re asking. Quite the opposite really.”

Fancy that. Sitting forward with a smirk, Crowley didn’t even have to come up with a witty remark because Aziraphale realized what he said and immediately began to babble. “Not as if—well, I do suppose some would say that you’re rather...alluring. But I’m an angel and—”

“Alluring, eh,” Crowley said, adding fuel to the flame. It was fun to watch Aziraphale work himself up. 

The angel huffed. “You know what you look like. Don’t pretend you’re not _ trying _ to get a certain kind of attention.”

“Only want your attention really,” Crowley said casually before he could really calculate how revealing a comment like that was.

Aziraphale’s face went soft. “Crowley, could I—”

He hesitated for so long that Crowley said, “C’mon spit it out, angel.”

“Can I hold you?”

Crowley’s stomach flipped and he nodded.

Aziraphale put down his glass and joined him on the small couch, pulling them together so he could rest his head on Crowley’s shoulder. “You’re really very sweet when it comes down to it.”

Grumbling, Crowley took a sip of his wine, but he didn’t complain when Aziraphale laced their fingers together

**August 2022**

“What a lovely day,” Aziraphale said as they wandered through the garden festival with Aziraphale pointedly holding his hand.

“S’alright,” Crowley said, leaning over to sniff at the zinnias on display. He really preferred plants of the non-floral variety.

“Are you two looking for anything in particular?” a woman said, coming up to the table and giving them a customer-service smile.

Aziraphale tensed and Crowley wondered if he would pull away. Instead, he gripped Crowley’s hand harder, making Crowley yelp.

“No, no,” Aziraphale said, waving his free hand. “Just enjoying the day.”

The woman smiled and wandered off to talk to other festival-goers. Crowley yanked his hand away. “You trying to break my fingers?”

Aziraphale looked sheepish. “Sorry.”

“You don’t have to prove anything, Aziraphale,” Crowley said, shaking out his hand.

“I will get over this,” Aziraphale said firmly as he fell into a stance that Crowley knew meant business.

“Look, I understand you feel nervous. You’re trying. I’m trying. We’re fine.”

And it _ was _ fine. They didn’t need to go fast now that the world wasn't ending. They had plenty of time to figure things out and Crowley was thrilled they were moving forward at all.

Aziraphale made an irritated noise and then fisted his hand around Crowley’s black tie, yanking him down into a kiss.

Crowley had kissed people on the mouth before. It had gone in and out of fashion as a greeting for millennia so Crowley knew how to brush his mouth across another mouth in a perfunctory manner and call it good.

Well, whatever Aziraphale was doing was the opposite of perfunctory. There were teeth and definitely a little tongue and Crowley felt very warm about the whole thing.

The woman by the zinnias cleared her throat and Crowley had to pull himself away. “Aziraphale,” he said, pushing against the angel’s chest while his hand was still clenched around Crowley’s tie.

Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered open and he stepped back abruptly.

“Sorry, madam,” he said with a curt nod at the woman who was glaring at them over the flower table before bustling them away to the rose display.

**

Despite Aziraphale’s rather overenthusiastic attempt at a first kiss, their further attempts were much more chaste.

They took to kissing each other hello and goodbye. And one very memorable evening in November, Crowley had kissed him while they were curled together on the couch just because he wanted to. Or so he said. 

And if Aziraphale had thought the little touches of the previous years had driven him to distraction then, well, he’d made a huge mistake by kissing Crowley at all. Because it was just getting worse.

Angels shouldn’t feel this much lust, surely, he thought as he watched Crowley tuck his now long hair into a ponytail with deft movements of his hands.

Angels shouldn’t feel this much lust, he reminded himself when Crowley ran a thoughtless hand over Aziraphale’s shoulder to adjust the fit of his coat.

If it kept on like this, Aziraphale was going to have to do something about it and he had no idea where to start.

**January 2023**

“So are we going to Norway?” Aziraphale asked from the far corner of Crowley’s couch.

The demon was mixing drinks at his ridiculously sleek bar and paused in his movements to look at Aziraphale. “Bit cold for Norway at the mo.”

“Oh right,” Aziraphale said, distracted by the little wrinkle Crowley got between his eyebrows when he focused. He couldn’t see it when Crowley wore his glasses.

They rarely did this. Go to Crowley’s. But lately, Aziraphale had been feeling like Crowley had been making all of the effort in their relationship and Aziraphale had just been...receiving it so to speak.

While they still had their weekly rendezvous (partially because Aziraphale liked how Crowley always brought him gifts and got so excited about trying new things) Aziraphale no longer really needed it to keep time. It had been over three years and Aziraphale did his best to keep _ some _ shop hours while still taking time for his own enjoyment. He went out without Crowley occasionally, just to remember why he loved the world so much.

Crowley had also bought him a quote of the day calendar which he enjoyed a great deal and was a definite contributor to his success in timekeeping. 

“Perhaps we could go next year,” Aziraphale said brightly. 

“We’ll play it by ear.”

Crowley handed him a white russian and settled on the couch a respectable distance away. Well that wouldn’t do.

Trying to figure out the best way to scoot closer without Crowley noticing, Aziraphale nearly missed his next question.

“So is this going to be a regular thing then? Wasn't exactly expecting you to want to spend time at my flat. Thought you hated it,” Crowley said, doing that thing where his posture was the physical equivalent of ‘come hither.’

Aziraphale couldn’t rightly say 'well I’ve decided I wanted to snog you properly and my couch is too small,' so instead he said, “ I don't hate it. I just realized we spend an awful amount of time at the bookshop and I thought perhaps we should ‘go back to yours’ so to speak.”

“Are you propositioning me, angel?” Crowley asked, a teasing grin on his face.

“No!” Aziraphale said, blushing despite the fact that he’d been planning on doing something along those lines.

“Well, ‘go back to yours’ usually means ‘go back to yours,’” Crowley said with a significant wiggle of his eyebrows.

“Oh! You mean...go back...and…” Aziraphale trailed off thinking about beds and other horizontal surfaces. And specifically Crowley on them.

“Looking a bit peaked there,” Crowley said before taking a drink of his martini and turning toward the television.

Aziraphale had agreed to watch one of Crowley’s “movies.” The demon had promised he would like it. Some spy film that Crowley had enjoyed when it was first released. 

“No judgment until it’s done,” Crowley reminded him with a sharp look.

Aziraphale nodded and sipped at his drink.

All told the film was fine, but Aziraphale spent the majority of it trying to migrate closer to Crowley on the couch and figure exactly how to get the whole kissing business started. 

The credits rolled with Aziraphale only really absorbing half the plot and when Crowley turned to him to ask what he had thought, Aziraphale threw caution to the wind and kissed him.

Crowley grunted at the sudden pressure but then his hand came up to cup the back of Aziraphale’s head which it had never done before in their light hello-goodbye pecks. So Aziraphale took it as a good sign and dug his fingers into Crowley’s lapels to pull him closer.

Experimentally, he flicked his tongue out over Crowley’s lips and was rewarded by them parting so Aziraphale could taste his mouth. Lemon and gin and cold vermouth. Crowley inhaled sharply through his nose and then pulled back.

“What’s going on?” Crowley asked, eyes full amber and flickering over Aziraphale’s face.

Not wanting to break contact entirely, Aziraphale fiddled with the buttons on Crowley’s shirt. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you for months.”

“Angel, we kiss all the time,” Crowley said quietly.

“Not like this,” Aziraphale said and met his mouth again with less pressure but just as much purpose. Crowley relaxed against him and Aziraphale practically tingled with excitement as they laid down together, still sharing kisses.

**

“Does this mean you’re sure?” Crowley asked as Aziraphale dragged his mouth over the dip of his collarbone. The angel had unbuttoned his shirt and seemed to be fascinated by what he found underneath. It made Crowley’s heart stutter and his belly get hot which was strange but not entirely unwelcome. What Crowley loved was the way Aziraphale looked when he sat up, pink-cheeked and glassy-eyed. 

“What?” Aziraphale asked, one hand skating over Crowley’s ribs while the other gripped the back of the sofa.

“Two years ago,” Crowley said, now embarrassed that he’d brought it up because Aziraphale was looking at him all concern and kindness. “You said you weren’t sure how you felt but that you wanted to try.”

Aziraphale’s hand froze in the slow pattern it was drawing on Crowley’s chest and then he looked down at him with growing chagrin. “I’d quite forgotten. Of course, darling. Yes, I’m sure.”

“Oh,” Crowley said, wishing Aziraphale would kiss him again. “Alright then.”

Instead of returning his mouth to where Crowley wanted it, Aziraphale’s palm went flat against his sternum. 

“I love you. I think I have for a long time but I was too scared to admit it,” he said so seriously that Crowley’s heart kicked hard enough he thought Aziraphale might feel it under his hand.

Crowley stared up at Aziraphale. What do you say to something like that? Aziraphale saved him the trouble of figuring it out by kissing him, laughing the while, and Crowley was certain he'd have enough time to put his words together properly. 

Even if it took a couple of years.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!  
you can find me on tumblr [here](https://summerofspock.tumblr.com) where i mostly post about azcrow, star trek, and the struggle of writing


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